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He grabbed a pillow from the bed and walked toward the hall.

“Where are you going?”

“Front room.”

“Why?”

“To sleep.”

I glanced behind me. “On what? You don't have a couch.”

“The chair.”

I stared.

“The gaming chair?”

“That's the one.”

“Damon, that's ridiculous.”

“I've slept in worse places.”

“Congratulations. That doesn't make it a good idea.”

He shrugged.

I looked at the enormous bed. Then at him. Then back at the bed.

It was a king. There was enough room for two people, three golden retrievers, and a respectable collection of decorative pillows. Not that Damon owned decorative pillows. He struck me as the kind of man who believed pillows should serve a purpose.

Much like furniture. And clothing. Although I personally felt he could do without that last one.

“We're both adults,” I announced.

His eyebrow rose. “Debatable.”

“Very funny. It's a king-sized bed. We can share.”

He studied me. “You sure?”

“Of course,” my voice was two decibels higher than usual.

I wasn't sure. I was so far from sure that “sure” would've required a passport and a connecting flight. But I wasn't letting him sleep in a gaming chair.

“I'm going to change.” I grabbed my tote bag and fled into the bathroom before my common sense could file an official objection.

The bathroom was spotless.

Suspiciously spotless.

There were no whiskers in the sink. No dried toothpaste on the counter. No damp towels abandoned on the floor. There was even toilet paper on the roll. Not the typical bachelor’s bathroom.

The bar was apparently in hell, but Damon had cleared it with room to spare.

I changed into sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. Then I stared at my reflection. My cheeks were still pink. My eyes were too bright. And my hair looked like I'd spent the last hour riding in a convertible with the top down.

Which was fair, considering I'd only been riding around in a golf cart while making questionable life choices.